A Few Days for a Wedding 4
by sarapals with past50
Summary: Sequel to A Few Days in Las Vegas--but stands alone. Grissom visits Sara in San Francisco for a wedding. Set nine years ago, before Sara moved to Vegas. All fluff, bit of angst,smiles and fun.
1. Chapter 1

A Few Days for a Wedding Chapter 1

**A Few Days for a Wedding Chapter 1**

"I'll never get married." Sara was standing on a small raised platform while one woman marked the hem of her dress and another stuck pins somewhere along her back.

"Yes you will." Paula was turning circles in front of a big three way mirror. Her dress fit perfectly. The others had left; their dresses fit, leaving Sara and Paula for final fittings.

"No I won't." She grunted as the dress was pulled tightly around her waist.

Paula had turned and twisted and bent over, stretched her arms over her head, reminding Sara of old women in a park doing morning exercises. "I think it's perfect, don't you?"

Sara agreed. "You look beautiful." Actually, Paula looked like a giant marshmallow, but as a bridesmaid, Sara knew her duties—agree with the bride. At least the dress she was wearing was dark blue and simple. She wiggled, saying "I want to breathe. Does it have to be so tight?"

The woman working with the pins came around to face her. "If you would wear one of the undergarments with padding, we would not have to sew it so tight."

Sara's sigh caused the dress to slip. She gave up. "Give me the corset."

A few minutes later, she had the one piece undergarment thing on giving her just enough padding to fill out the top of the dress and push her own breasts up. Paula started giggling as only she could do.

"Whoa! That should give your old bug man something to look at during the wedding!" Paula always referred to Grissom as the bug man. Sara tugged at the top of the dress. The three women before her had smiles on their faces. She returned their smile. She waited for the dress to be finished and Paula delivered her and the dress to their apartment.

In the past two weeks, the two roommates had moved Paula into her new apartment, the one she would share with her husband, run around like crazy people doing last minute wedding preparations, painted the living room-kitchen of the old apartment, and continued to work—or at least show up at work. The wedding was in five days. Paula was staying with her parents until the wedding.

For the first time in her life, Sara had a place of her own. As they moved Paula's things out, Sara had begun to make the rooms her own. She had purchased new sheets and smoothed them on the bed and moved furniture around. She had cleaned everything and every surface. She asked Grissom to stay at her place; he had never been inside and it was certainly different from his bright, white, sparse but expensive townhouse. The only furniture she had ever purchased was a small wooden desk. Everything else was what she called "passed around"—what no one wanted or had room for or found on the side of the street.

Stretching across the bed, she picked up a book—one she had found in a second hand bookstore—Shakespeare. Grissom's letter and poem had sent her on a search. She had almost dosed when a beep from her phone signaled a call.

Her boss, "Sara, come in early! You got another missing list. Looks like several possibilities. And a package is coming." He had continued with his support for her search on finding an identity for the skull from the vineyard. She has accumulated stacks of missing person's reports; he had sent out request after request for information, asking for files, calling family members, using his position to quietly assist her.

She slept a few hours and still made it to work several hours before her shift started. She closeted herself in the tiny cubicle and went to work on the list, immediately crossing all men and women older than fifty off the new list. Within an hour, Grissom called.

He asked about her dress fitting, assuring her again that he would be there. They talked about the skull, the new list of missing, and he had a name of an anthropologist who was recreating faces. She would be willing to take the skull.

"Do you think she could put a face on this one?" Sara asked. "How long would it take?"

"We can ask. I'll talk to her before I come."

They both had assignments and crime scenes to work.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: We do not own these characters or CSI or much of anything! We are having fun, and we do thank the powers that be for allowing this fun to happen without hunting us down and throwing us in some dark dungeon jail!! Enjoy our bit of fantasy with Sara and Gil._

**A Few Days for a Wedding Chapter 2**

Grissom had called her twice, leaving a message each time. He sent an email saying he was coming earlier than planned. When he arrived at her apartment, it was empty—or rather, she was not at home. From the small porch, he could see in open screen windows as the breeze moved curtains aside. He sat on the top step and waited. San Francisco was certainly different from Las Vegas.

The lush green above the sidewalk and below on the hillside was unseen in the desert. Flowers bloomed in pink and red abundance here; no sprinklers running half the night to encourage them. The buildings next door and behind the apartment were almost obscured by thick foliage. And always a breeze, not the hot grit wind of Las Vegas, but one that cooled and smelled of salt and perfume.

How had he come to this place? Sara wasn't his type—if he had a type. Almost as tall as he, skinny—no, slim was the correct term. He had always preferred blondes, flashy girls who showed off their feminine side. He had also been frightened of most women. Sara was different. Her thought processes shot off in a dozen directions at once, then she asked a question that no one else had thought to ask. She had an eccentricity about her that he enjoyed but he had also avoided. He had not planned this, meaning the past six months.

Within hours of being alone with her, he had gone from having fun to something else. Seeing her in the bedroom at the bed and breakfast, realizing how young and vulnerable she was, seeing her uncertainties had shifted his thinking. Now he wanted her as naturally as he wanted his right arm.

At work, alone in bed, driving along a street, he thought of her and ached. Was this what people called love? He was not sure. He was also sure this would not last. He was already who he was going to be and Sara was not. He was a middle-aged man with a serious family history that almost guaranteed a "negative long life" as a physician had phrased it. She was a young girl, still searching for what she was to be and what she wanted in life.

Soon enough she would understand this, see him clearly as one who trusted too few, who was impatient with many, who was too old for her eagerness, enthusiasm, and her youth. Soon enough this would happen.

Today, this weekend, they would enjoy each other. They would have fun, as couples do, with no strings. He was the one who began to think seriously about them, but now, he knew it was wrong to take advantage of her—she asked for nothing. He loved being with her, hearing her giggle, listening to her voice, giving her pleasure and watching her brown eyes darken. He had leaned against the door and closed his eyes as he thought all these things.

"Grissom!" He jerked up at his name. She was running up the stairs, cloth bags in both hands. "You are here! Early!"

Her smile broadened across her face. He knew why he was here. Forgetting his thoughts, he returned her smile. "I got off earlier than I planned. I called—left a message, actually two, and an email."

Her key opened the door. "I planned to cook for us! Come in—come in." She backed into the apartment. "It's not fancy, but now it's mine."

He stepped into the pale yellow room he had been able to see from the porch. The room was small, so different from his own place. A small sofa was under the double windows, a wooden desk was in the corner, a chair faced the sofa, and a short bookcase sat against one wall. Posters of old paintings hung on each wall—big posters of angels. He looked closer—cemetery angels, he was sure. He turned to the small kitchen.

Sara was talking and putting groceries into the refrigerator, telling him what she had purchased. The kitchen took up six feet along the wall behind the open door. A tiny table with two chairs completed the furniture. Across the room was the doorway to the bedroom. A long dress bag hung on the door.

"Come in," she said. She reached for his suit bag. "I have one closet." She touched his hand. "I'm so happy you came." Her touch was enough. He leaned to her face and let his lips meet hers, his hand free to bring her close to him.

She wrapped her arm around him and together, they walked into her bedroom. She hung his suit beside her dress.

"This is it." She waved a hand indicating the room.

Grissom saw a girl's bedroom, neat but with her belongings everywhere; a stack of books beside her bed, scarves hung from a mirror, several photographs on furniture surfaces, a long painting above the bed of black trees against a sunset, and four windows framing the sky and neighborhood. Diaphanous curtains moved in the breeze, lifted and settled back against the screens. His suitcase dropped from his hands and he pulled her into his arms.

"I like purple," he said with a laugh. The walls were painted dark purple; he was certain he had never been in a purple bedroom.

"It's nothing like your place."

"It's you." He said as he kissed her nose. Somehow, she moved into place, against his shoulder and his arms were around her. He felt her lips on his neck. How could he not desire this woman? But before he ripped off her clothes, he asked, "Have you eaten today?" His hands told him she had not been eating enough.

Sara giggled. "I know what I want now and it isn't food."

They collapsed on her bed, both laughing and working on the other's clothes with hands and kissing wherever lips met skin.

"Wait, wait." She jumped from the bed. "I have a candle."

"We don't need a candle." His hands grabbed for her but she was already out of bed and striking a match.

"It's supposed to smell of lavender." In thirty seconds she was back with him leaving the candle burning across the room.

_A/N--keep reading, keep sending us a comment! Thanks so much. _


	3. Chapter 3

**A Few Days for a Wedding Chapter 3**

He managed to get her jeans off and commented on her underwear. He had seen lots of panties and bras but there was a huge difference in seeing a living person wearing these tiny pieces of cloth stretched over the most intimate places and handling similar items taken from a crime victim and placed in a plastic bag. She shivered as his finger traced the lace around her leg. Her reaction caught his breath.

He was wearing too many clothes. She was facing him, sitting straddle of his hips, when a bright flaring light caught his eye behind her. He knew immediately it was flames. In a second, he had moved her to one side and was out of bed. The gauzy curtains had blown into the flame of her candle and, in an instant, caught fire. He tugged the flaming cloth from the window, crashing things in its path.

"Bathtub."

This word came from Sara as she helped him pull the curtain free of its hanger and just as quickly as he had gotten out of bed, they were in the bathroom, water running from the shower, the wet curtain ruined by fire and water.

Sara was in the bedroom surveying damage by the time he breathed again. "Shit," she said. "I can't believe I did that."

He had to smile as he watched her pick up things that had fallen, wearing nothing but pink panties and bra, her hair more disheveled than anything else in the room.

"You okay?" He asked, reaching to touch her cheek.

She held a small frame in her hand, the glass broken in a dozen pieces. "Yeah." She looked at the window and back to the broken frame.

"I can't believe I was so stupid." Her voice broke.

He realized she was on the verge of tears. He took the frame from her. It was not expensive, but it was old. The photograph of a child with two adults was undamaged.

"Hey," his arm went around her. "No harm done. A new curtain and new glass."

She blinked rapidly several times but continued looking out the window. He put the frame back in its place.

"You sure you are okay?" He reached for his shirt. "Let's get a drink. Didn't I see juice?" He wrapped the denim shirt around her shoulders. He wasn't sure what to do; Sara seemed rooted to one spot.

He picked up the framed photograph again. "Is this you?" The little girl stood beside the woman whose hand rested on the child's shoulder. The man leaning against the car with crossed arms touched neither child nor woman. It was a picture similar to hundreds of family photos taken somewhere near a beach, all three laughing on a sunny day.

"How old were you?"

Less than a minute passed, but it seemed hours, before she said anything. "I was seven."

He knew it was more than the fire that caused this change, more than a burned curtain, or a broken picture frame.

"Juice." He turned her to face him, took her hand and moved her to the next room. By the time he found two glasses and opened the juice, she was laughing, saying again how stupid she had been.

"No, you were not stupid. Incredible sexy, yes. Definitely beautiful, yes, but never stupid." He handed her a glass. "We can shop for curtains later—and a new frame."

She wore his shirt as they talked. She turned on music. This time their eagerness for each other was slower, anticipated, and deliberate; he teased, she smiled and giggled. Her moment of withdrawn sadness forgotten as passion pulled them together. His earlier uncertainties were also forgotten.


	4. Chapter 4

**A Few Days for a Wedding Chapter 4**

In the afternoon, they shopped for a new curtain. Grissom learned that they came in pairs as he carried enough to cover all four windows in matching panels. They spent another hour steaming the wrinkles out of each and hanging them across the windows. Sara purchased a piece of glass for the frame and he watched as she replaced it.

"Sara," he said. "Where are your parents?"

She shook her head. "My father is dead. My mother and I are not close." Grissom had to wonder how the mother and daughter in the photograph were no longer close.

He said "My dad died when I was nine. My mother is still living."

She leaned against him and he thought again how she filled this space at his shoulder so easily. She pointed to the family in the picture. "We were at the beach, north of here. We had this Volkswagen van for years. I loved it—my mother hated it—I had the entire back to myself." She curled her legs under her as she talked and held the photograph so he could see it. "This is the only picture I have of the three of us."

He understood.

They ate in her apartment. She cooked, serving him salmon and vegetables and little fruit covered cakes—she called them tarts—that she had gotten at a bakery. He ate everything. Afterwards, they walked steep streets and back through parks watching children play under careful eyes of adults. She pointed to distant horizons of the bay telling him about a pre-wedding party they were going to.

By the time they returned, darkness had brought cooler temperatures. Sara began to close windows until Grissom stopped her. "Leave them up. We'll keep each other warm."

"I'll never get married." Sara said as he handed her a tub of ice cream. His eyebrow shot upwards but he said nothing as he returned to his place in the bed. Her eyes were pools of dark chocolate—darker than the ice cream she ate—and her cheeks were still colored with a rosy flush from their most recent actions.

He spooned a bite of ice cream and waited, knowing there was more she would say. She had pulled a simple white tank top on and lay stretched in bed, hair curled and tumbled around her head, her dark eyes flashing.

Using her spoon, she pointed to the dress bag. "That dress will be worn one time. I should wear it for the next two days! All this work for a wedding when all the bride and groom want is a party and presents. It's like we are living in the stone age—no—medieval times."

Grissom had to laugh. "Is it the marriage or the wedding that you object to, dear?" He had brought the small container to bed with two spoons. She dug in with her spoon. He moved his spoon in circles making a long curl of ice cream.

"All of it. Paula is smart. She has been on her own for years, paying all her bills. When she got engaged, it was as if she became dependent on her parents and her boyfriend. She would not even pick out a dress to wear without Joel seeing it—what did he know about a dress? Then she did not want him to see her in it, just see a picture. It is all too weird for me." She scooped another bite into her mouth.

"I mean—its fine to get married, making everything legal, whatever that is. But just go get a piece of paper and forget all this whoop-la about fancy dresses and white cake. No one even knows what it means any more." She shoveled more ice cream into her mouth.

Grissom had leaned back against pillows and listened as Sara continued to voice her thoughts about wedding superstitions and folklore. As his spoon scraped the bottom, he put the last of the ice cream in her mouth. She grinned.

"As I being overly dramatic?" She asked.

"It gave me a reason to come. That's a good thing."

"Yeah." She placed the empty tub on the bedside table and brought a book back in her hand. "That's the best part."

His hand had moved underneath the top she wore. It looked like a tee shirt for men, but fit her better, tighter. God, how did she do this to him, he thought. An hour had not passed and he was ready to—he stopped thinking the word. He refused to use a four letter word for what they did. One word was too harsh, too crude to describe their act. The other word was too intimate, to near to a commitment, and neither had uttered it in six months of this relationship.

Sara handed him the book. "Read to me."

It was an old Shakespeare book of sonnets and plays, similar to an old copy he had. "Where did you find this?"

"Used bookstore. After your letter, I wanted to read more." She had curled beside him, finding the place on his chest where she seemed to belong. "It's been years since I read any of this."

"Do you have a favorite?" He asked. When she shook her head, he turned to the plays and began reading. It was one about a wedding and deception and misunderstanding.

"Even Shakespeare thought weddings were weird!" She giggled as he turned a page.

But before he had turned many pages, she rolled to face him, placing kisses along his lips, using her fingers to play with his hair. He had to close the book to do the same to her.

Afterwards, Sara fell asleep in minutes, but it took longer for Grissom to quiet his mind of thoughts about this girl who loved so passionately, who gave herself so completely, and who did not ask for anything but passion in return. She puzzled him; providing more questions than answers.


	5. Chapter 5

**A Few Days for a Wedding Chapter 5 **

Sara awoke to cool air blowing across the bed and a warm arm wrapped around her with a hand resting against her breast. Her back was against his chest keeping her warm in a tight hug. She liked Gil Grissom. She enjoyed talking to him, listening to what he said, but one day he would be gone. He would stop calling, decide something or someone was more important, just as most of the people in her life had disappeared, he would not be there one day.

Until then, she wanted to give and take pleasure in him, she wanted to make love to him, laugh and talk and learn from him knowing he would be gone one day and leave a hole in her heart. If she thought about it, she would cry and she was determined not to let him see her cry. When the curtain caught fire, and she realized her only photograph of her parents almost burned, she almost cried. His response had been the right one; he did not smother her, but poured her juice.

Sara turned over in bed feeling warm breaths against her neck. He could sleep in Las Vegas, she decided. She began to kiss him above his ear, along his jaw. He twitched in his sleep, and as she continued touching his chin to his lips, his eyes flickered open. Her hands were already touching other areas of his body.

"Girl," his voice husky with sleep whispered against her ear. "Do you ever sleep?"

"Yes. When you are not here." She giggled at his response which she had in her hand. "You know you want to do this as much as I do." Her head ducked beneath the covers as she kissed her way down his chest, darting her tongue along the path she made. He groaned and she grinned. She loved his reaction. And he always repaid.

They slept again, wrapped in her new sheets and a blanket she pulled from her closet. Before she closed her eyes, Grissom asked her "What do we call this, Sara?"

Her head lay against his chin and her body was so close to his that an onlooker would find it difficult to visually see two people in this bed. When he asked his question, she moved even closer. He felt her breath as she sighed.

"Let's call it having fun, Grissom. I do enjoy being with you, I really do." She kissed him below his ear; her hand cradled his chin for a minute before she went to sleep.

Sara smelled coffee before she opened her eyes. Grissom was sitting on her bed. "This is a good way to wake up." She stretched before realizing she was naked and pulled the sheet to her chin. As she tucked the cloth under her arms, he was laughing. Her eyes widened, "What?"

He passed the coffee mug to her. "I think I've seen most of your body, Miss Sidle. I don't know why you think you have to cover up."

They both laughed but only when he passed her a shirt, did she pull the sheet away.

Later, she listed what she was supposed to do as a bridesmaid. Knowing this, he had made separate plans for most of the day, meeting with her boss and discussing the skull and other information she had gathered. She handed him a door key.

"I'll be back by four o'clock."

"I'll be here."

"I will miss you."

"I'm in the same city."

She wrapped arms around him. "Thank you for coming. You could join the men of the wedding party."

He made a face. "I'll do better with your boss." She had written directions for riding the city bus to her work location. Grissom was expected.


	6. Chapter 6

**A Few Days for a Wedding Chapter 6**

Grissom and her supervisor were long time acquaintances, meeting at conferences, finding an occasional common thread in cases, and found they had much to discuss in a few hours. They were skeptical about finding out whose skull was in Sara's space, but with the news of an anthropologist who would work on recreating the face, both became more hopeful.

A box of bones had been sent to their office by a sheriff in an adjoining county, but the men quickly ruled these as too old to belong to the skull. Missing person's lists had been culled by age and gender and the short list included names of thirty-three women, all missing over a twenty year span.

Finally, over coffee and vending machine food, the two men talked of Sara. Her boss was elusive or, perhaps, Grissom thought, he was not asking the right questions.

He asked, "What happened to her parents?" Grissom wanted to know.

The older man shook his head. "Do you care about Sara? I'm not telling you this story as gossip or just to satisfy your curiosity. If you care for her, and I think you do, she does not want your pity or sympathy. At the same time, you should know her history and she certainly will never tell you."

Grissom nodded. He was silent as the man related a story more than fifteen years in the past. A young cop arriving in a small house where a husband had been stabbed repeatedly by his wife, and their young daughter standing in the middle of this carnage; a scene from your worst nightmare—he was the cop.

"I almost quit that night. The child had been traumatized beyond description. She was taken away by a social worker, but I never forgot that little girl's face." He leaned back in his chair. "Imagine my surprise, when that girl walked in one day—I knew immediately who she was—working on a master's degree and looking for a project and wanted to work forensics." He chuckled. "I put her through some hoops but all along I knew I was going to hire her. Smartest thing I've done in years." He was quiet for several minutes as he chewed on the stem of his eyeglasses. "She doesn't know I was there. I've never mentioned it to her, and I only tell you because I trust you."

Grissom nodded. This put much of the puzzle together. "She's smart and she's a puzzle."

"Yeah." Her boss smiled. "She's a puzzle, a beautiful girl. Has a compassionate soul for every one—even the dead animals."

It was Grissom's turn to chuckle. "You know about that?"

"It's my lab. Not much goes on that I don't know about." The two men sat in silence for a short time before her boss continued. "If you do get her to Vegas, take care of her. I still see that little girl sometime, frightened, alone, and silent. Just standing in that room with all that blood, her mother gone crazy, a dozen people moving around her, and she is quiet. Most people would not have made it out of there, but she did. Graduated from Harvard—did you know that?"

Grissom nodded. They had shared certain experiences in phone conversations over six months. "I'd like to have her on my team." He wiped a hand over his face. "But we may be too far gone for that to work."

The older man lifted his eyebrows after Grissom's statement. "Mmmm—got rules against partners and spouses and soul mates in Vegas?" He chuckled. "I never understand those rules. Where the hell are we supposed to find people to love and care about if it's not at work?"

Grissom had not thought of it this way.

"You two will work something out. I have about a year until retirement. Let me keep her until then. She will come to you better prepared, better qualified than anyone else you will ever hire." He reached for the skull. "If I were a betting man, I'd bet she will find who this is."

"Have you talked to the anthropologist? Miller?"

"I have. We've worked out payment for her. I'm waiting until Sara returns so she can pack this up and send it out."

Quietness came again between the two men; not uncomfortable, but a thinking person's silence. Grissom checked his watch.

"I need to go. We have a party tonight."

"Paula's wedding party? I'll be there tomorrow. It's a big one. I think tonight's party is on a boat in the bay—should be beautiful." The two men shook hands and parted, both thinking better of each other than they had a few hours earlier.


	7. Chapter 7

**A Few Days for a Wedding Chapter 7**

Sara was late, well past the hour to meet Grissom. She hoped he was ready. She did not pray, but she had asked for patience and guidance from some unseen force during the hectic few hours of pedicures and manicures and poofy hair arrangements. And tomorrow would be more of the same.

Grissom turned from the window as she entered. "I'm late, I'm late." She stopped when she saw him, dressed in dark pants and a blue shirt, casual but expensive, she knew. "Oh." He held arms out as she walked around him. "You look good." She tried not to smile too much, but her bug man looked wonderful. "I'll be a few minutes. The boat leaves at six."

"I'll call a taxi—go, dress!" He watched as she disappeared into the bedroom.

Was it luck or destiny or some grand plan that put him in her path six months ago? With all the talk and giggling and gossip of the day, she had kept him at the forefront of thoughts. He had not complained about being left alone, he had not complained about dressing for tonight's party or the wedding tomorrow. She wanted to sneak a peak at his clothes for the wedding; if tonight was an indication, she would have the best looking guy there. Heck, the most beautiful person at the wedding would be with her! She already knew the others and none, man or woman, would compare with his looks. She snickered while she showered.

If a bride could ask for perfection, Paula got it for her wedding weekend. The bay was calm, a breeze kept everyone cool enough to enjoy eating on the deck, the food was delicious, and music had everyone dancing. There were enough people in the party for everyone to have someone to talk to, and she was surprised to watch Grissom laugh and talk with these strangers. And more than one female noticed her date. He never forgot her, keeping her hand in his, slipping away to return with drinks for both, and dancing only with her—even when Paula's brother asked her to dance, Grissom disappeared for a few minutes and returned with drinks.

He had also found a quiet place to take her, a small space under a flight of stairs.

"It's been years since I made out with a girl." He whispered as he kissed her neck and lifted her hair away from her neck. "You smell good enough to eat."

She giggled. "You look good enough to eat!"

As the boat slowly made its way back to the dock, the hidden couple acted like teenagers but knowing they would consummate their passion in bed, slowly and deliberately exploring the other. Darkness helped to conceal their flushed faces, or so they thought, as everyone made their way off the boat with promises for later, restating times and knowing another celebration was a few hours away. Neither Sara nor Grissom noticed the bride and groom watching them and smiling at each other, happy their friend had found an obvious soul mate.

"Do I get to see your dress before the wedding?" Grissom asked. They were wrapped together after "having fun" as Sara had named it the night before. The party had been foreplay for what they did, both were exhausted, but put off sleep as they kept hands together and lips placed next to some soft place of the other.

Sara was in that half dream-like state of complete satisfaction, yet hearing his voice, when his lips closed on her neck or shoulder or hand, made intimate places in her body want him again. She could feel a wave of contractions of muscles one never sees, doesn't even know they exist until one finds a lover, as his soft, husky voice said words in the semi-darkness of her bedroom.

She rolled to face him moving even closer into that protective space made by his shoulders and arms and hips, putting her arms around him as he did the same.

"I'll show it to you before I leave." She made a quiet laugh. "I have this goofy corset to wear."

His head was buried in her hair and she felt, rather than heard, his laugh, finally saying, "I got to see this—you in a corset." They laughed together.


	8. Chapter 8

**A Few Days for a Wedding Chapter 8**

They slept until sunlight woke them both. Grissom drained a water bottle at his bedside before sliding arms around the woman next to him.

"What time must you leave?" He asked.

"By eleven—with the dress and the corset." Sara kept her eyes closed even though they had both been awake and moving hands on each other's body. "I like this, waking up with your hands on me."

"Is this the best part?" He had raised his head on a crooked arm, his other hand moved steadily down the center of her chest, circling one breast then the other, his thumb lightly touching each nipple. His hand moved to the shallow depression between her hips; she needed to eat, he thought. He heard the quiet intake of air as his fingers touched the warmth of the private place of desire. His fingers kept moving and he had to remind himself to breathe. Sara's eyes closed.

"Keep your eyes open, Sara."

She opened her eyes, the pupils completely black as her body responded to his movements. Her hips moved off the bed and she gasped for air. He felt her tightness against his fingers as she moved.

"I want you," she whispered.

His body had reacted to hers and he rolled above her. "Keep your eyes open."

In seconds, she had slipped or jumped into that pool of rushing water that engulfed one when intense passion and desire were met with equal intensity. He shuddered as he was caught by the same erotic waves, finally closing his own eyes as he tumbled against this woman and literally lost conscious thought process.

He knew he loved her, but all he could say was her name. "Gentle, sweet Sara." He felt her hands in his hair, long slim fingers with feathery touches.

"Grissom." The whisper of his name caused him to lift his eyes. In her brown eyes, he found tears, and a single damp track traced down her face. His thumb touched the wetness as she turned her face away from him.

"It's okay, honey. It really is." He kissed her. "This is very powerful for both of us."

She kept her face turned away. "I'm not who you think I am, Grissom."

He turned her face to his. "Yes, you are. You are a beautiful woman, a very passionate one. You have asked nothing of me and given me everything."

"What are we to do?"

He smiled. He had said similar words months ago. "Anything we want to do."

They stayed in bed until she was almost late. He called a taxi—she was not taking a bus to the church carrying her dress. He did get to see the dress and he did get a look at the corset thing making several suggestions for its use. It was not a real corset as he understood those garments; this one was more one piece bra and panties. He promised to be on time, he promised he had things to do in her absence, and he made her promise to eat.

He did find things to do before changing clothes, putting on a white shirt and dark suit and giving an address to a cab driver. It was a large Catholic church; he knew the routine for this ceremony and it was to be the long service. Sara's boss found him and they entered the church together.

Grissom was always surprised at how much he remembered from early religious training, Sundays spent in church with his mother, other times learning scriptures and symbols before he decided that church doctrine was not to be part of his adult life. As music filled the church, Grissom relaxed and watched.

The music changed and the groom and his men entered; they turned and looked at the audience. Grissom turned in his seat and saw multiple young women in blue dresses gathering to walk down the aisle. He counted eight—Sara was the sixth one to enter and she caught his eye as she started the slow walk. He smiled. This dress on her was eye popping, and he knew why she was wearing that corset. It filled her out, up, he thought. He wasn't sure how that worked but it got his attention. In church. He dropped his head and smiled. His mother would not be pleased with his thoughts.

The bride entered to familiar Wagner. And for almost an hour, Grissom listened to the traditional service, songs and prayers, ending with communion. He followed the ritual of standing, repeating words known from childhood until everyone stood to watch the new couple leave as husband and wife. Sara is right, he thought, a lot of symbolism and folklore went into these ceremonies.

Outside, she waited for him, placing a kiss on his face. "Thanks so much for coming. We have to take more photographs in the church."

"I like the dress." His eyes traveled to her chest. "And the corset—I am not sure how that works."

She leaned close to him and whispered, "I'll let you see its secret later!" She giggled.

In a few minutes, they were back in the church. He found a place to watch as people were placed in front of the camera and moved around and smiled. He spent the time looking at familiar icons and remembering times when he found a certain comfort within the institution.

"Mr. Grissom," a young man, one of the bride's brothers, tapped his shoulder, "Some of us are leaving for the reception. Would you like to go with us?"

Grissom looked back to Sara, standing with a dozen others. He knew what he wanted to do. "I'll stay. They can't be too much longer."

He ended up in a limo with eight women, all dressed in blue, and laughing as if they had drank too much communion wine. The formal part of the wedding over, these women, young, excited, smelling of sweet fragrances, folded around him in their long dresses, shuffling around once inside to put Sara next to him.

_A/N: If you've read this far leave us a review!! We don't ask often--several more chapters to go before the conclusion. _


	9. Chapter 9

**A Few Days for a Wedding Chapter 9**

The wedding was a simple affair compared to the reception. Grissom had never seen so many flowers and candles in one place, practically covering an already beautiful place surrounded by a golf course.

"It's the Presidio." Sara whispered as he gazed at the high timber exposed ceiling. Guests walked through the first building to a large white tent—more flowers, more candles, crystal, silver, and small lights. Grissom was sure he had never seen such extravagance for any event.

There was champagne flowing and glasses handed to everyone and passed hors d'oeuvers carried by waiters in black and white. A tall white cake stood in the center of the room, and while Grissom knew nothing about wedding cakes, he knew expensive from the intricate decorations. Roses and lilies and a dozen other flowers cascaded from the tables. Turning around he saw a large ice carving in the middle of another table. To him, it appeared to be a large candle before he realized it was an initial.

One of the bridesmaids from the limo grabbed his hand. "Over here." She directed him to a table and disappeared. Shortly, the women in blue entered the tent, preceding the bride and groom. Sara found him, smiling, and flushed from whatever bridesmaids do.

It amazed Grissom that people knew what to do in these circumstances as if some genetic code was passed from generation to generation. Inside, dinner was served, family members stood to talk about the bride and groom, toasts were made, people laughed, dinner was served, the cake was cut and passed to guests, and cameras—everyone seemed to have a camera and flashes were constantly in the background of whatever was happening.

A band began playing outside and gradually people moved from the tent to a large patio area. Everyone danced, some as couples, some as a group, sometimes only the women were on the dance floor. Hours later, when shoes had been removed, candles had burned to puddles of wax, the bride had thrown a handful of flowers, and excitement and enthusiasm had become exhaustion and fatigue, the couple left in a brief celebratory wave.

Grissom managed to signal one of the first taxis in a long line and gave Sara's street address to him. By the time the car stopped, she was almost asleep, swaying a little as she started up her sidewalk to the stairs. Grissom paid the driver and caught up with her as she started up the stairs.

Midway up the stairs, she turned. "Oh, Griss…" She slumped forward. He caught her before her head hit the step. Somehow, he managed to open the door, pick her up and get her to the sofa, wet a washcloth and wipe her face, before her eyes focused.

"Are you okay?"

She tried to get up and he pushed her back. "What happened?"

"I think you fainted." He removed her shoes. "Let's get you out of this dress." His arm went around her.

"I'm fine. Really." She managed to sit up. "It's been a long day."

He got her to the bed, got her dress off, leaving only the one piece undergarment left. "This is an interesting invention." Seeing it on her, a sudden realization hit him. "Sara, did you eat anything today?"

"I ate dinner tonight."

"No, you talked. I doubt you took four bites of food." He went into the bathroom and turned water on in the tub. "You are taking a bath. I'll find food." She did not object and let him guide her to the tub, both laughing about "the corset". She slid into the warm water while he went to find food.

In her kitchen, he had another moment of comprehension. The cabinets had little food other than what she had brought in the day of his arrival. A few packages of noodles, a can of tuna, a box of cereal, peanut butter, but nothing that he considered real food. He had not given a thought to her financial situation—she had taken on the full expense of this apartment, his visit, buying extra food for them. Her shoes lay in the floor—he wasn't familiar with how a wedding worked, but he was fairly sure that shoes and a dress were added expenses.

He poured cereal into a bowl, added milk, and a sliced banana. He spread peanut butter on a slice of bread. Honey—he saw a bottle in the cabinet and added it to the peanut butter. By the time he got everything ready, she was soaking in deep water.

"Here you go." He spooned cereal into her mouth; she ate everything he had put on the plate. "I'll get juice."

Sara could not believe she fainted on her own steps. Exhaustion did not begin to describe how she felt, but it all closed in on her as she tried to place one foot in front of the other to get home. All she needed was something to drink and to sit down. She woke up on her sofa with Grissom's face coming into focus.

She knew weeks of little sleep, too much work, and too much fun had caught up with her. As she rested in the bathtub, she realized how tired she was, much more so than usual. After eating, she did regain some energy, managed to get out of the tub on her own, found something to wear, and met Grissom in the bedroom. She pitched her towel into the hamper missing the bright smear she left on it.

"Thanks, I needed food." She smiled. Grissom was smiling again; the tiny worry lines around his eyes were still there. "I'm fine, really."

He pointed to the bed. "Get in." She did not argue and watched as he undressed, hanging up his suit and her dress.

"You were the best looking man at the wedding."

"I'll be back after a shower."

The last thing she remembered was hearing water running. Her eyes were so heavy that she was asleep by the time he returned.


	10. Chapter 10

**A Few Days for a Wedding Chapter 10**

Grissom moved her over enough to have room to stretch out. He knew she was exhausted and he had not helped. They had not slept more than four or five hours straight since he arrived. He spooned against her back and wrapped arms around her. In her sleep, she moved closer and in minutes he was asleep.

Some time in the night, he woke aware that some thing was not as it should be. Sara lay beside him, still in a deep sleep. She did not move when he stirred and felt the warmth sensation of fluid against his thigh. He flipped covers back to find a dark stain—he had seen blood to often to have any doubts as to what this was. Sara was bleeding and it was not the normal loss of blood associated with monthly menses.

"Sara! Sara!" He tried to control the rising panic in his voice. "Sara, honey." His hand cupped her face. "Wake up, Honey." She stirred slowly.

Her eyes opened briefly; she sighed and gave a brief smile, and seemed to fall back to sleep.

"Wake up, Sara." He patted her face with his hand. "Honey, you're bleeding. Too much." He left her to fetch a washcloth and wet her face which made her open her eyes.

"Grissom." She smiled again, briefly, before she recognized the fear in his voice and his face. "What's wrong?"

"You are bleeding—too much. Let me help you to the bathroom."

She groaned and doubled over before getting to her feet. Immediately, more blood appeared. It scared him much more than he showed; not the blood but the amount of it. She made it to the bathroom, and the toilet, but did not close the door.

"Is this normal?" He asked. She had removed her panties and threw them in the tub, shaking her head. "We need an emergency room."

Sara was fully awake now. "I've had pain all day—I thought it was excitement of everything. One of the girls gave me a pain pill earlier. I thought that's why I fainted on the steps."

"This is not normal." He was cursing himself for not knowing more about women and trying to remember snippets he had heard from Catherine over the years. Not enough, he thought.

"Maybe it's just break thru bleeding." It was wishful thinking on her part and her uncertainty was in her voice.

"What do you need?" His answer would be an ambulance, but he wanted her to say that.

She pointed to a cabinet. "In there—tampons."

He knew what those were and found a box. "I don't think these are going to stop what's going on."

Sara tried to get up, clutched her belly, and sat back down on the toilet. "I've got bad cramps, Grissom." Her head dropped to her knees. "I—I think I'll be all right. Maybe you could go to the corner store and get some pads. I—I'm so embarrassed."

He wet another washcloth and bent to face her. "You've never had this happen?" She shook her head. "We need to get you to an emergency room. Ambulance or taxi?" He did not ask for her to agree with him.

When her eyes looked at him, he realized how pale she was. Her brown eyes were the only color in her face and they were wide with pain. "Ambulance." He dialed from her bedroom. In the minutes of waiting, he found an old robe and wrapped it around her, and got dressed. He had asked for a silent approach and ran down the stairs to signal the driver.

In less than ten minutes, two emergency technicians were in her apartment, taking vital signs on her in the bathroom. Wrapping her in a blanket, the large man picked her up and carried her to the waiting vehicle. Grissom crawled in with them.

One EMT started an IV while another radioed ahead giving information to the hospital as quickly as Sara answered his questions. Grissom held her hand. Traffic was light but the driver hit the siren and lights as soon as he pulled onto the main street. Within minutes, they pulled into a large emergency room and a team swarmed around Sara.

_A/N: Two more chapters to go! Little angst and worry for you!_


	11. Chapter 11

**A Few Days for a Wedding Chapter 11**

"He stays." He heard Sara say this to someone who was asking questions. He heard "Significant other." Curtains closed leaving them with the woman asking questions. Other words poured out—possible miscarriage, entopic pregnancy, ovarian cysts, uterine bleeding. Finally, another woman joined them and he read "M.D" on the name tag.

"You are in luck tonight. No babies trying to come into the world right now." She introduced herself to Sara and Grissom. "Let's see what you have going on down here." She pushed the emergency blanket aside, placed Sara's feet in the brackets she pulled from underneath the bed, and moved a light in place.

"Miss Sidle, may I call you Sara?"

Sara answered with a yes.

"I've got to do an internal exam, press around on your abdomen. Nothing going on before you woke up? No prior break through bleeding?"

Sara answered her questions and groaned as the doctor pressed on her abdomen. The doctor ordered immediate blood work and an ultrasound, again using "stat" as she continued to probe Sara's belly.

Grissom saw bright red blood on the doctor's glove as she said something to the nurse. The nurse left and returned with a wrapped package.

"Sara, you need an ultrasound to be sure—since you are taking oral contraceptives, this is probably not pregnancy related. We'll find out for sure in a few minutes. That's leaves several other things it could be—nothing deadly, just scary to experience." The doctor opened the package, but Grissom could not see what was going on. "Your bleeding is coming from above the vagina—may be an ovarian cyst that's ruptured, may be a fibroid, or a buildup of the lining of the uterus."

She worked quietly for several minutes. "The blood is clotting—that's good. Pregnancy test is negative."

The nurse had rolled an ultrasound machine into the cubicle. The nurse explained the procedure as one with "some discomfort". Grissom watched Sara's face. She kept her eyes closed for the entire exam. The nurse added a pain medication to the IV and within minutes Sara's expression relaxed. Grissom never left, even when she dosed off following the second procedure.

She said "I'm so sorry about this" twice before he told her not to say that again.

Another hour passed before the physician returned to give her a diagnosis and explanation. She also brought a set of scrubs. "These are for you to wear home." She went into detailed explanations of what had happened—a thickening of the endometrial lining of the uterus and as it began to disintegrate, it caused the blood loss. Not common, but did occur with the use of certain oral contraceptives in some women, she explained. Perhaps a new pill would prevent it from occurring again. She explained the procedure called a D&C which effectively cleaned the uterine wall and stopped most of the bleeding.

"Most of the time, this type of thing is hormonal. A different pill will have a different combination of hormones. Weight loss can also influence it and you said you had lost some weight." She had a stack of papers and a plastic bag she passed to Grissom. "Make sure she takes the iron supplement—she's anemic, which is another factor in this. I've put pads in there—use those, not tampons, until the bleeding stops." The physician gave more directions and answered questions; Sara signed forms for discharge when the nurse arrived.

Sara was rolled out in a wheelchair, exhaustion showing in her face. Grissom helped her into a taxi.

"You look kind of cute in those scrubs." He said as he pulled her over to his shoulder.

She could not smile. "I'm so sorry about all of this."

"Honey," he cradled her head, "I hate you had to go through this. I'm just glad I was here."

Her hand wiped across her face. "I didn't want your last night and day to be in a hospital emergency room."

His lips touched her hair. "We'll have plenty of time to do other things."

At her apartment, he picked her up and carried her up the stairs placing her on the sofa. "Stay here and tell me where to find clean sheets." She did and in a few minutes, she was finally in her freshly made bed.

"Thanks. You've been so good to stay with me."

Grissom climbed into bed with her. "I'm staying. Get some rest. I'll get us some food later." And before his sentence was finished, she was asleep.

Sara continued to sleep well into the day. Grissom was up before noon, walked around the corner to a grocery store and bought enough food to stock her shelves for days. He got the normal staples of a single person's diet—soup, crackers, cheese, eggs, milk and juice. He purchased special things, potatoes, little snack cakes and energy bars, fruit cups, ice cream and a dozen candy bars. He found a laundry and left her sheets and towels; the woman said they would be ready to pick up in two hours.

He called her boss, telling him the essential facts of what had happened, but no personal details. Sara could do that, but she needed rest for a few days. He called his own office and told his boss he needed another two days off. He changed his airline ticket. When he heard noise from the bedroom, he returned to the bed.

"Hey, sleepyhead."

She opened her eyes. "I was hoping I dreamed everything." She fingered the plastic identity bracelet on her arm.

"It was not a dream. How do you feel?"

"Fine." She managed a quiet laugh. "I feel like my guts have been ripped out."

He folded an arm around her and pulled her close. "I'm so sorry, Sara. I feel responsible for this, you know." He kept her in his arms.

"Don't feel that way—it would have happened sooner or later. I'm sorry it happened while you were here." She laughed again. "It's pretty gross having to deal with a girlfriend bleeding big time, having to sit in the ER for hours while her privates get explored and cleaned out. Talk about a turn off—I can't imagine what could be worse."

"I'm glad I was here." They lay together for long minutes before he said, "Let me fix an omelet. Stay here."

She didn't, of course. He heard her in the bathroom and moving around in the bedroom. He saw her change out of the scrubs into her own clothes, and as he plated the omelet, she lay back on her bed. He got her to eat most of the omelet and actually made her smile with an old joke about chickens and eggs. Before returning the plate to the kitchen, he plumped pillows and smoothed sheets, realizing how pale and frail she looked; completely different from the laughing bridesmaid just twenty-four hours ago.

He returned from the kitchen to find her curled around a pillow. "Are you okay?" He sat on the bed and placed a hand on her shoulder. He realized she was quietly crying. "Hey, what's wrong?" She shook her head. "Are you in pain?" When she shook her head again, he placed his hand on her back and moved it in circles, feeling the tension slowly ease until her tears stopped.

"Thanks," she mumbled.


	12. Chapter 12

_Last chapter for this one! Working on the sequel already--so keep reading! _

**A Few Days for a Wedding Chapter 12**

He stretched out on the bed, wrapped arms around her and pulled her against his chest, his hand continuing to stroke her back until she was asleep. His troubling thoughts kept him awake. He could not push aside the notion of fault. Hearing Sara's medical history was one of youth, wellness, and good health—until she met him and started taking an oral contraceptive, then this emergency happened. The physician assured them it was impossible to predict when things like this would occur; it just happened in some women as their bodies adjusted to hormones.

Sara snuggled against him, smiling in her sleep. She looked like a teenager, he thought, and too thin, too pale. The bones on her hand were too prominent. He placed his hand over hers.

Grissom's eyes finally closed but not before he remembered his uncertainties about commitments, about his age and his own insecurities. He would put them aside for a few more days, until Sara was well, eating better, and color returned to her face.

Sara had to go to the bathroom. One arm was folded under her head, the other held by Grissom's hand. If she moved, he would wake up. This long weekend had been almost perfect until—she could barely keep from crying when she thought about how embarrassing the entire episode had been. Even now, in the darkness, involuntary tears formed. Grissom would not return; she was too much trouble. The thought made her tears puddle and fall from her eyes.

They had danced and danced at the wedding; everyone was laughing and having so much fun. He was polite and gracious and well-mannered—so much more than most men she was around. She could not bring herself to even think that she might be in love, not Sara Sidle, the kid who stayed in the science lab to avoid other students; students who knew about her father and talked about her mother. She could not love anyone because anyone she loved disappeared.

Grissom stirred and she took the opportunity to move her hand from his grasp. He woke immediately. "Hey." His voice was sexy even in sleep, she thought.

"I need the bathroom," she whispered. She rolled out of bed and returned a few minutes later to find him sitting up.

"Everything okay?" He asked.

She nodded. "I actually feel a lot better. Are you hungry?"

He smiled. She watched an eyebrow go upwards. "I got ice cream."

They finished the small carton sitting on her couch watching an old comedy on television.

"Grissom—I'm so sorry about all this."

As proof of her thoughts about his polite and gracious manner, he placed one finger against her lips. "Shhh—not another word. I have my own guilt about what happened to you." They sat in silence until he stood, taking her hand and going back to bed. He wrapped covers over her and, keeping his jeans on, lay next to her.

"Grissom, will you come back soon?" She tried to hide the fear in her voice.

"I will." He brought her against his chest. "I miss you when we are apart." Then he asked, "What if we take a trip together? Would you like that?"

"I would. I—I would have to put in for leave. I'm pretty low on the ladder." She had managed to curl against him in that way she had that felt so natural.

"In a month, actually its six weeks, I am going to Chicago. Small seminar and I'm speaking on bugs—maggots and temperature. I could use an assistant."

She smiled for the first time in hours. "I would like to go; I've never been."

"And Sara—I'll buy your ticket with my honorarium—no discussion—you'll be my guest. Chicago is a great city."

Her hand moved to his face and caressed his jaw. "Thank you." She was asleep in minutes.

They woke up together, tangled across the bed with familiarity of long-term sleeping partners. He heard a giggle before he opened his eyes. She was feeling better, he thought.

"You slept in your jeans."

"And you are feeling better. Ready to eat?" He asked as he put feet on the floor. It was easier not to face temptation of being in bed and awake with her, especially when certain things were off limits.

"And a shower."

Grissom fixed pancakes, more than they could eat, especially after she spread honey and peanut butter over her stack.

"I don't believe I've ever seen pancakes eaten with peanut butter."

She laughed and forked a bite. "It's addictive. Fills your belly up so you won't be hungry for hours."

The rest of the day, they spent quietly, reading and watching an old movie on television, sitting together on her steps. She walked with him to the grocery store for more ice cream finding fatigue followed her on their return.

"Rest," he said. "I'll fix dinner." He pulled a take-out menu from the refrigerator door. "Chinese?"

She went to sleep on the sofa and woke when he returned loaded with boxes of rice and noodles, vegetables, fish and chicken. It was enough to feed a crowd.

"I'm much better, Grissom. Really, I am." She knew he could not stay forever. "I can go back to work by tomorrow night, I'm sure."

Grissom watched her eat. Her dark hair emphasized the whiteness of her face. "Only if your boss agrees to desk work. You are in no shape to be doing much more than pushing a pencil." He opened the bottle of iron supplements and held one in his palm.

She smiled a quick grin. "There's always pencil pushing to do and he's happy to get someone to do it." She swallowed the pill.

Later, she willingly went to bed but managed to stay awake until he was out of the shower, again, wearing his jeans to sleep in.

"Lose the jeans," she said as she giggled.

"I'm not sure that's a safe thing to do."

She giggled again as she flipped the covers back. "Get in. I'm so exhausted I don't think I can handle anything right now." He crawled in beside her. "But I do like the feel of you."

He pulled her close. "Good night, Sara."

In the morning, he fixed a breakfast of eggs and cheese toast and yogurt. She cleaned her plate. They slowly walked two blocks to a park and watched as a group of women performed an elaborate exercise routine.

They talked about the wedding; Sara laughing as she repeated she would never marry. Grissom teased her, suggesting a courthouse wedding would suit her, and she rolled her eyes.

In the late afternoon, she insisted he leave her. Giving promises to eat, to take it easy at work, to recover slowly, she watched as he packed his things and delayed leaving as long as possible. He talked to her about her health; she insisted she would be fine. He made a comment about the corset that made her laugh.

"I'll talk to your boss about Chicago. It's a professional meeting; you will learn something."

After Grissom left, Sara sat on the top step trying not to think about how he had taken care of her—as if he really cared.

_A/N: This is the conclusion of this bit of fluff (little angst)! Hope you enjoyed reading as much as we enjoyed writing it. Stay tuned--another one coming along in a few days!!_


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